Learning to See the Light

Have you ever seen stars in broad daylight? I have. Not in the sky, but beneath the canopy of an American sweetgum. For years, this remarkable tree has greeted me on countless walks through the never-depeveloped forest at the New York Botanical Garden. I have come to know it in every season, but it is in the dimming afternoon that it never fails to stop me in my tracks. Looking up through its crown, I find what appears to be a constellation overhead.

7/6/2022 Thain Family Forest, New York Botanical Garden
photo by Sunghee Lee

The sweetgum's five-pointed leaves have the familiar shape of a child's idea of a star which is perhaps even more star-like than the stars described by astronomers. When sunlight filters through them, they become translucent, revealing a delicate network of veins that glows from within. Each leaf catches the light as if it were lit by its own flame. Together they shimmer above me like hundreds of green stars scattered across the daytime sky. It is a beauty so gentle that it often goes unnoticed by those who hurry past. Perhaps that is why I return to this tree again and again. The sweetgum has taught me that seeing is often less about our eyes than about our willingness to pause.

10/27/2022 South Grove, New York Botanical Garden
photo by Sunghee Lee

As the seasons change, so does its expression. Autumn brings an astonishing palette of gold, amber, scarlet, burgundy, and deep purple, often all on the same tree. Against the brilliant blue sky of October, the leaves seem almost radiant, as though they have gathered the summer's sunlight and are releasing it in one final, breathtaking display. Whenever I stand beneath a sweetgum in full autumn color, I am reminded that nature does not simply decorate the landscape. It teaches us how light helps each of us gain everyone’s own version of interpretation of color.

10/14/2021 Wetland Trail, New York Botanical Garden
photo by Sunghee Lee

Winter leaves the branches bare, yet the tree loses none of its character. The familiar spiny seed balls remain suspended like curious ornaments among the twigs. Their strange, almost whimsical forms have earned them little affection from anyone who has stepped on one. Yet I have come to admire them most in late afternoon when I wandered around the garden after work. As the evening sun hangs low behind the canopy, each sphere casts a long, delicate shadow across the ground. The ordinary becomes sculptural. Even these curious fruits seem transformed when touched by light.

2/11/2022 Azalea Garden, New York Botanical Garden
photo by Sunghee Lee

As a member of groudcrew, not a spectator of a series of phenological drama, it was not easy to embrace every aspect of these curious seed balls. Removing sweetgum balls scattered across manicured lawns is more than ordinary seasonal maintenance. Each ball clings tightly to the grass with its spines. It will not be blown away, even by the strong winds. It will not decompose like leaves and twigs, which means it should be seperated from regular garden wastes. And it cannot be easily scooped up by a shove or pitchfork. The long war against leaves ends with battles with sweetgum balls in Janulary, followed by the war against snow.

2/23/2022 Main Lawn, New York Botanical Garden
photo by Sunghee Lee

The American sweetgum has become more than a beautiful tree to me. It has become a faithful companion through the seasons and one of my quiet teachers. Every visit reveals something I had not noticed before. Morning and evening, spring and autumn, sunshine and cloud each uncover another aspect of its character. It tells me different stories in different places - in the snow, above the valley, beneath the forest canopy.

1/31/2022 Azalea Garden, New York Botanical Garden
photo by Sunghee Lee

Every memorable tree offers a lesson to those willing to return to it. The lesson of the American sweetgum is that light is never merely something that falls upon the world. It is something living things receive, transform, and quietly return to us. Once I learned to see that, I could never pass beneath a sweetgum without looking up hoping once again to find stars shining in the middle of the day, or down at the seed balls waiting to tell another story.